Magic Dance
by rachel2205
Summary: This Spike&Dawn short fic should appeal to Labyrinth fans! Sorry for a couple of bits of broken html... Shouldn't impair your reading.


Title: Magic Dance

Word count: 1300ish

Pairing: Spike/Dawn

Setting: Post Buffy season 5

Rating: PG

Dawn looked in the mirror, her hands stroking the front of her dress nervously, and took a shaky sigh. This was stupid. i She /i looked stupid. The sleeves on the dress were huge, and ok, this was an 80s themed party – an 80s i film /i themed party, to be precise – but still, the sleves were really big. Whoever invented shoulder pads was so not a genius.

Also, the dress was really long. Considering Dawn herself was a lanky 5'7", whoever had owned this dress before she picked it up from the thrift store must have been a giantess. A weird, busty giantess, she noted ruefully, looking down at the slack at the front of the dress. A B cup was too small for 5'7", she was sure of it. Too tall, no boobs, no super powers. Thanks, monks, she thought. Couldn't ya have designed me a bit more Angelina? It would, you know, make up for being an ex-ball of energy.

Well, the boob thing didn't stop the dress fitting ok, that was something. However, she wasn't sure she'd be able to dance with her skirt trailing on the floor. She took a few tentative steps. "Dum, dum, dum," she hummed under her breath, moving her feet around, her arms trying to move freely in their puffy sleeves.

"Party started already, has it?" said a voice, and with a squeak Dawn stumbled. Looking up from her new position on the floor, she saw Spike leaning against the door frame. He looked effortlessly cool, obviously, and Dawn… was lying on the floor in a pouffy white dress. Great. Just great.

"Hey Spike," she said weakly. Oh God. This was so embarrassing. Spike had volunteered to take her to the party – which, by the way, had caused a lot of arguments in the house, and for a while she'd thought she'd have to let Xander take her, but luckily he was called out to a building site emergency – and she'd had it all planned out. She would get into her dress, look all graceful and elegant, and walk down the stairs to where Spike would be waiting. He'd look up at her, tilt his head to the side and his brow would furrow with surprise. And then he'd say: "you look lovely, pet." In the car on the way to the party, he'd put one of his Ramones cds on, and then they'd arrive and she'd be about to get out and he'd say "wait a minute, love," and then…

Yeah. Then he'd tell her to have a good night and if any boys tried to cop a feel she should "deck 'em." Then he'd go home and count how many days it was since her sister died – 374 days – and she'd go into the party and pretend she was having a good time and that she'd been invited for herself, not because she was friends with Lisa who was friends with Sarah, who was dating James who was throwing this party. Dawn who had two whole friends, Lisa and Janice, and lately she was feeling Lisa didn't even want to hang out with her that much but felt she should because Dawn was all, you know, messed up. Because of her mom and stuff.

Spike held out his hand and Dawn scrambled to her feet.

"Funny idea, this, pet," he said, drawing on his cigarette, "but next time you try dancing, you might want to put some music on. I hear it's more fun that way."

"I was, um, practising," she said, feeling her cheeks heat. "This dress is really long. I guess I'm just clumsy."

"Rot," he said. "When I was human, everyone had dancing lessons for years. Not easy dancing in a crinoline – so I hear."

"Did you have lessons, Spike?" she asked, and couldn't suppress a faint giggle at the idea of it.

"One or two," he said shiftily, looking at his feet. "Only cos my mum wanted me to. And I s'pose I thought it might help me find a girl. 'Course, I forgot that being rich and having a title was more likely to do that, but…" He shrugged laconically.

"What sort of dancing did you do? Show me," she said, smiling at him winningly. Spike frowned.

"I do not dance."

"I won't tell anyone!" She persisted. "Please, Spike."

"Abso-bloody-loutely not," he said. Dawn continued to stare at him expectantly, and Spike sighed.

"We discuss this with no one, alright?" he said, and tucked his cigarette behind his ear. "Right then." He took Dawn's hand and put his hand on her waist. Dawn felt her stomach tremble and she was sure her feelings must show on her face, but Spike didn't notice. He had a preoccupied expression.

"One-two-three, one-two-three," he murmured under his breath, and then swept her into the step-step-close of a waltz. Dawn was painfully aware of his closeness to her body, and she wondered if he'd noticed the speed of her heart. And then, too quickly, Spike let go of her. He looked strangely uncomfortable.

"Best get a move on, pet," he said. "Party will've started." He took his cigarette from behind his ear and put it between his lips before heading out of the door. Dawn took another glance in the mirror before following him. Yeah, she looked stupid. Why was she even doing this? It wasn't like it would impress Spike, and he was the only guy she wanted to like her.

They drove to the party, an old cassette tape blaring crackly Sex Pistols as they weaved their way through Sunnydale. They parked outside the house. A Flash Gordon and a Maverick were making their way inside. Spike then gave her his usual trying-to-be-parental-but-failing speech about how she should only drink something if she opened the bottle herself, and if she threw up to call him and he'd pick her up. Oh, and the regular line about hitting anyone who groped her. She sighed, not wanting to tell him that no one had ever so much as tried. She was the oldest person ever to have never been kissed. She'd nearly kissed this guy at Halloween, but he turned out to be a vampire so it didn't work out. She almost wished she'd kissed him anyway. She could have pretended he was Spike.

"I'll be careful," she said, and pushed open the door. As she unclicked her seatbelt, Spike said softly:

"How you turn my world, you precious thing."

"Wh-what?" she said, turning her head and staring at him wide eyed.

"The costume," he said. "I get it. Sarah from Labyrinth, yeah?" He grinned. "Don't look so surprised. It's a bloody good film."

Dawn wanted to say "I love it too," but instead she offered:

"But you like Passions, so your taste is a little off."

"Don't slag off Passions, pet," he said, in a half-joking tone. "Brilliant show. Now bugger off. I'll pick you up at 11."

"12," she said, getting out of the car and shutting the door.

"Oh, and Dawn?" he said.

"Yes?" she leaned down next to the open car window. Spike had a new cigarette in his mouth, and he was looking down at his lighter. "You look nice, pet." His finger flicked the wheel of the lighter a few times and nothing happened. "Bloody thing." He still didn't look up at her.

"Thanks," she said softly, stepping away from the car. After a moment, Spike reversed and drove off. Watching the tail lights disappear down the street, Dawn was struck by something. She'd chosen to be Sarah because she thought Labyrinth was a cool film. What she had failed to note was that Sarah had a definite case of repressed desire for a man who was pretty widely regarded as evil, and had rather a dated sense of style, but who managed to remain pretty hot despite having peroxide blond hair.

Figures, thought Dawn, and turned to go into the house.


End file.
